


it spills all over (over and over)

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: ....Mostly, Canon Compliant, Dialogue Heavy, F/F, One Shot, byleth vaguely remembers old timeline(s), no beta we die like men, sorta a crimson flower reunion rewrite because i was robbed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 00:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21226757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's been five years, and despite it all, Edelgard still thinks about the Professor.





	it spills all over (over and over)

The flowers left at the grave have long since decomposed, and gone back into the earth. 

The soil in front of it is empty, and a woman stands in front of the headstone, reading the words etched onto it once more. 

She wonders if she should have a name added to the epitaph. It would be only right to keep the dead close to their parents and kin – let them join their loved ones on the other side. 

(Or was it too early to conclude the search? She knew the others would object to its closing. She _ herself _ wanted to believe so badly that the Professor was alive.)

Not that she'd have anything really concrete to add either way. Merely thoughts and prayers to a Goddess that she'd sworn to kill. 

She's spent so much of herself just _ searching,_ and it pains her to even think about. It's pitiably hard to track someone down when they've been under the radar for so long, or when they were last seen being thrown off the edge of a cliff by a monstrous dragon, for example. 

If she'd taken a different path, the monastery would be alive with festivities. A celebration of the millennium since its founding. The Church would still have complete authority over the region, but she thinks, dangerously, that it would have been perhaps… more peaceful. And there wouldn't be blood on everyone's hands, or cries of their enemies fresh in their minds. 

They'd be having a lighthearted class reunion, complete with their teacher.

But it's futile to even think about it – the future's all in her hands now, and it's impossible to switch tracks, to reverse, to back down at all. It was a new dawn she chased, and even so… 

(_It's hopeless_, a voice in her says. _ The war is all for naught. Nothing's going to change._

_Unless...if, maybe.... _)

Thinking back, she remembers the Professor with complete clarity. 

Even if she was banished from the path her student walked, thrown onto the figurative curb, or otherwise crushed out of the equation. 

She remembers the dark blue – no, the pale green colour of her hair, the air of mystery surrounding her, her eyes that could see through anything. 

(With eyes like that, Edelgard wonders if the Professor already knew what she truly felt of her.)

There's a flower still held in her right hand, its colour a sharp contrast to the red of her gauntlet. She holds it up, examining the petals – they're yellow, the colour of the Alliance. A symbol of the path that, if the Professor had taken, would most likely have been her demise. 

(Would the Professor have been happier, there? Would she have not been lost?)

She brings it to her left hand, and extends her right again, fingers closing around its vibrant corolla.

One, two.

_The Professor is, undeniably, alive. Your hope is not unfounded. _

Three, four.

_The Professor is dead, and this weakness is a necessary evil forced upon you and your friends. _

Five.

_The Professor is neither dead nor alive, and you won't find out until it matters. If ever._

Six.

The petals on the grave do nothing, _ mean _ nothing, and Edelgard curses the waste of time that was the act. There's a dull emptiness in her as she questions the correctness of her even _ being _ here at this grave. 

She _ knows _ how devastated the Professor was – the ashen demon brought down to its knees, its soul torn and its body void. There's no telling how long Edelgard had laid awake thinking about asking for forgiveness when there was no one to provide it.

And to be all because of – 

...She's definitely stumbled on her route. Fallen, even. Such a path of the Empire is unforgiving. 

(It's scarcely even fair, but nothing in Fódlan really is.)

But even so she dreams. Edelgard dreams, and it's not just a dream of the goal, but a dream of the journey. One where the Professor has returned, as naive as it may be. 

Edelgard looks beyond the ledge, and the sun's dipping ever so slowly, nearing the horizon.

She wonders if Hubert is looking for her – if she's spent too much time away – and as if on cue there's suddenly a hand on her shoulder.

(She hopes, even uselessly, that he won't question what she's been doing.) 

Edelgard turns, a twist of her boots on the grass, and

it's the Professor. 

It's _ Byleth_. 

She blinks.

At first, there's nothing to say. Her lips move wordlessly, and she questions if she's gone insane. 

The Professor _ smiles, _silently, and it's only the two of them in the entire monastery – but Edelgard doesn't believe it's for her. There's no reason someone like Byleth could want to smile towards someone like her.

And despite it all, it disarms her entirely. 

"It's you," Byleth begins, mirth in her voice, "...You look different. But you haven't grown a bit."

"_Professor, I … _" Her throat is dry, and she's unable to form any words to even say. The crown weighs heavy on her head, and it does nothing to help with her situation. 

She finds her eyes are blurred and wet – from guilt, or from joy? – and she doesn't want Byleth to notice, but her teacher sees everything. 

Frivolously Edelgard wants to _back away, _away from the Professor and _everything_, so she doesn't have to deal with all that she's holding and thinking and _feeling _–

There are arms around her.

Warm, and soft, yet strong.

(There are pieces of armour slightly in the way, but Edelgard couldn't care less.)

She blinks. Again. 

"I made a promise," Byleth says, softly, beside her left ear, and Edelgard's heartbeat thunders – she hopes the Professor can't feel it, what with her hands around her. "I've been sleeping for the past five years, so I woke up just in time." 

"Y-you're _ joking_, at a time like this…" She wills her voice not to shake. It doesn't work, and nothing gets past the Professor either way. "I still don't believe you're not just an apparition of the past." 

"Try touching me, then," Byleth suggests, frustratingly blank as ever, "See if your fingers go through me."

"M-My..." Edelgard manages, greatly flustered despite everything, "...Professor, that's..."

(A distant voice in her mind reminds her that she's meant to be the Adrestian_ Emperor_. Infallible. Certainly not reduced to a stuttering mess.)

Slowly, she raises her arms from her sides to pull Byleth closer, her fingers curled on the Professor's back. 

(Edelgard thinks she'd want to be slain on the spot if it had turned out Byleth was a figment of her imagination after all – it would be too much of a loss for her to take.)

"It's okay, you know. To do nothing… _ productive, _just for a little while."

"I... I haven't done _ anything _." 

"You've done _ well_."

"That's baseless," Edelgard protests, "You haven't been around in –" 

"I've gone and talked to everyone, already," Byleth says, "and you weren't there, so I came to look for you. Not the place I'd expected you to be, but…" 

"I was just thinking about when you left us." _ Left _me, she wants to say, but she starts to blush just thinking about it. 

Edelgard pulls away from the embrace, and moves to the balcony next to the graveyard, overlooking the rest of the monastery. Byleth comes to stand next to her, and she speaks again. 

"I was considering how just a few months after Jeralt... after _ Monica… _and then, right after everything I'd done..."

She looks to the clouds, far away. 

"You vowed to protect me, and in that way, became a traitor of Rhea and the Church by my hand." 

"You feel… at fault?"

Edelgard looks away, averting her eyes with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Professor. That this has to be what we talk about when we've just reunited."

"It's alright." Byleth waves a hand. "I just doubted you'd still be hung up on … me, and whatever happened to me five years ago."

Her ears sting. "Is that… am I not supposed to be?" 

The Professor chooses to not respond, and instead looks further past the Emperor, upon the grave with its smattering of colour. Edelgard's gaze trails hers. 

"It's yellow," Byleth states. "I thought you'd have chosen red." 

"It reminds me too much of … it all." 

"And yet, Edelgard, you still…"

She starts a little at the mention of her name – no prefix, no 'Your Majesty'. "For me, it's already on my hands – I wear it on my sleeve. But for someone so special to you…" 

"..." Byleth tilts her head, bringing her hand to rest on her chin, as if in deep thought, "I see.

"The Alliance, and the Kingdom – we're going against them, aren't we?"

(Edelgard latches onto the last word, and cautiously hopes that the path she's walked has been with the Professor all along.)

"It's… unfortunate, but we will have to in order to secure the Empire's future."

"If I'd picked their house to teach, half a decade ago," Byleth muses, "Things would be really different."

"Do you regret it?" Edelgard asks, swift and painful.

The Professor's eyes cloud over, and she's thinking about something no one else knows about. 

"If I hadn't joined you, I'd have had to bring an end to you myself," she says, finally, "I didn't… I wouldn't have known _ you_, truly."

"It's... hard to explain," she continues, noticeably struggling to find the words, and Edelgard's heart twists, "and I know you may not believe it –"

"You can tell me _ anything_, Professor."

"I've seen…" Byleth shakes her head, "most of everything that can happen. I've watched the people I know die, once, and then many times, and my only constant is _ myself _. And I keep… rewinding time, in the hopes that something better may happen. 

She turns to look at the Emperor, mouth pressed in a thin line, eyes unreadable. 

"My memory of previous occurrences is thus a little fragmented, but I do know that in the scenarios where I _ don't _follow you, I strike you down with my sword. And your last words always lament us not being able to walk the same path." 

"What do you…" 

The changing of the Professor's appearance had certainly been strange, with her green eyes and hair seemingly closely related to those of the Saints and the Archbishop. But to have her say that she held power over time itself, possessed the ability to retain knowledge throughout different timelines and universes? 

"It's expected that you cannot hope to understand, through no fault of yours." Byleth makes a pained expression. "With more paths I take it seems my regrets grow larger. I'm forced to turn back the clock further and more frequently. Therefore – and I apologize – I'm committed to changing your mind." 

"Changing my mind about –" 

"Dorothea said, once, that I was your anchor. The one who kept you down to earth." The Professor pushes on. "Is that true? Was that true even when I'd just joined the monastery?" 

"It is true that I was drawn to you from the start," Edelgard admits, forcibly clear. "You saved my life, after all. Remember? When you were with J – when you fought with all of the house leaders?" 

"I did," Byleth concurs. "And, the first time, I died for it."

It's as if a stake drives itself through the Emperor's heart, and she visibly winces. "..._ Died _? What do you mean, 'the first time'?"

"It was the first time, because only after that did I find time was rewound to save me. The first time I _ died _ – and it was for you.

"And then, with the powers granted to me by the progenitor god… I saved you again, this time managing to parry the attack. 

"It's not mere coincidence that brings us together, I think." 

"Maybe it's…"

(Edelgard trails off, having no idea what she was going to say, but her face feels hot anyway. She dislikes it.)

"I have no idea what it would be, either," Byleth brings her shoulders up in a shrug, "But my point is: Because of that... I think you're the centerpiece of all of this."

"I wouldn't say that. It would be _ you_. If what you say is true, everything weighs upon who you choose to side with." Edelgard takes a deep breath, lets it out, "I suppose I should be eternally grateful that you chose the Black Eagles." 

"It's always you declaring the wars," Byleth says, firmly. "It has to be _ you _ to stop them. You have to change your mind about the path you've so determinedly set upon. Our fates are clearly intertwined, and it's my job to –" 

"I can't." 

She turns to the Professor and takes hold of both her gloved hands in her crimson gauntlets – she looks into her eyes, and the Professor looks surprised. "You think I don't know that it would be so much easier if we could all side together? The Alliance, and the Kingdom – no, Claude, and Dimitri, and the people we coexisted with in the same academy?

"We _ can't_, and that's the point. As humans, we've always sought to resolve things through bloodshed. It's painful, Professor, but I thought … if you've really experienced all that you say, you would have gotten used to it by now." 

There's only the sound of the breeze.

Byleth sighs. 

"You're right. It never gets any easier, but it's fate, isn't it? Unchangeable."

"Then…" Edelgard hesitates. "Professor, what will you do?"

"It's fine if you just call me Byleth, you know." The Professor evades with no subtlety, but the Emperor wants to let it go. "There's no one you need to call any title in _ your _position."

"Answer the question," she shoots back flatly, valiantly ignoring her words – Byleth thinks it's a rather well-done imitation.

So she smiles, _ again _ – "Is it okay to call you El?"

Edelgard just barely manages to keep her composure. "...You really don't want to talk about it, do you?" 

"Sorry, that must've been rude of me –" 

"_Not really," _ The words fall out of her mouth. "Maybe if it were someone else, but you…"

"It's just…" The Professor falls quiet, but continues. "We should enjoy our time together while it lasts. With everyone else, too.

"There's no knowing if – _ when _ I'll be in another world once again. So don't get too attached."

_ But I already have been from the start_. Edelgard doesn't make the retort, and instead inwardly laments that the mysteries of the Professor have been blocked off yet again. 

"El," Byleth says, and Edelgard hates that she responds automatically – "_What_?" 

"Are you going to let go of my hands?" 

"I –" For a moment Edelgard feels like she understands just a fraction of why Bernadetta feels like screaming, and she flushes indignantly. "My apologies, Professor –" 

"Byleth," she corrects. Edelgard concludes that she _ definitely _greatly hates the Professor, and resolves to murder anyone of the Black Eagle Strike Force if they even so much as comment. 

Then she gets an idea, and it's a _ terrible _idea.

She lets go of one of the Professor's hands, but doesn't loosen the grip on her left.

"Er... _ Byleth_."

"Yes?" 

(The Professor's surely teasing her now – she's never heard such a sweet voice come out of her.) 

"...Can we," Edelgard states stiffly, sweat forming on her brow, "...still hold hands? As we walk back to join the rest of them?"

Byleth _ laughs_, airy and light, and it threatens to melt Edelgard into a puddle. "Of course." 

(She doesn't know if this timeline will be any different, but she resolves to make the best of it.)

**Author's Note:**

> this route was already painful after verdant wind
> 
> and then edeleth hit me over the head and made me start writing at 2am and now i can't get up


End file.
